


Education

by cynthia_arrow (thesilverarrow)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Because politics, Gen, thinky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:59:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3318266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverarrow/pseuds/cynthia_arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He so often finds himself being shuttled between President and Commander, but all he really wants to do is fly and keep everyone else flying. Maybe leadership is that simple, he thinks. Of course, it's also other things he never wanted, especially not now, in a time of war. He wonders if she wanted it. She was never meant to come this far.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Education

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at livejournal many moons ago. I'm simply archiving it here.
> 
> The story spans most of the series and goes a bit into the future, becoming not canon compliant since it was written before the show ended. 
> 
> Thanks to alissabobissa for her invaluable advice and for helping me keep a handle on the Leemo. Quotes from the show at the head of each section are adapted from transcripts found at http://www.twiztv.com/scripts/battlestar.

Education  
  
  
Lee watches her hands as she talks, the way she gestures at the board in front of them. It's a battle plan, something she knows very little about, but he can hear it in her tone even if the rest of them maybe don't: instruction. Her words are precise, summarizing what they've said as if to get a sense of it; but in reality she's making it sound new and different to his ears, echoing it back so he can hear the way it actually sounds.  
  
Adama nods as she talks. They've come a long way; this is easier than it used to be. Today, her tone is calm, diplomatic without being patronizing. A spoonful of sugar. On other days, he's heard her lay everything out without subtlety: what a reasonable person would expect, what a populace of people needs, what a man should choose to do if he wants to keep his soul intact.   
  
She asks the appropriate questions, but at the end of the day, she trusts them to know their jobs. Perhaps because, like his father, she makes so many of her own difficult decisions on a daily basis. Luckily, she makes them well. When she doesn't, when she's wrong, she tells you. Eventually.  
  
  
  


I.

  
  
_Lee: The President has given me a direct order.  
  
Adama: You're talking about the Secretary of Education. We're in the middle of a war, and you're taking orders from a schoolteacher?_   
  


*

  
She comes to him on the hangar deck, as out of place as a bolt jumping clean of a toolbox and rolling across the floor. It's an off time, and very few people, even the knuckledraggers, are roaming about down here.   
  
"Don't you have people to do this?" she says, gesturing at the array of tools in front of him, the kind you can't handle without getting dirty.  
  
"Yes, ma'am. But I like to check over my own bird. It's nice to be able to do that from time to time."  
  
"I hope I’m not disturbing you."  
  
"Not at all," he says. "Unless you mind talking to me while I'm under there."  
  
"Not at all," she says, in deliberate echo.  
  
She watches him continue to dig out a selection of tools and rags before he slides under the viper. She's quiet for a while, and he can hear the snick of her heels as she makes a circuit of the craft, wandering and contemplating as if in a museum.  
  
When she comes around to where she began, he says, "I noticed you're getting good at handling my father."  
  
"I learned from watching you," she replies.  
  
He can only snort.   
  
She adds, "Handle Lieutenant Thrace, I mean."  
  
At that, he chuckles. "Nobody handles her."  
  
"Exactly."   
  
She's quiet again for a moment, not moving this time, although he can see the shadow of her hand as it sweeps up and down the nose of the viper.   
  
Abruptly, she says, "Why is Captain Thrace the one conducting the new pilot training?"  
  
His hand stops. "She's the best."  
  
"Not you?"  
  
"Not me."  
  
"I wouldn't say that, Apollo."  
  
"No offense, Madam President, but how would you know?"  
  
"Because I know you. You don't have the luxury of being rebellious. You have the responsibility of wrangling the people who are. That has a tendency to effect a person's behavior, but not his abilities. Abilities which I've seen more than you apparently recall or are aware of."  
  
At that, he slides out from under the viper and sits up, but he doesn't stand; he simply slings his arms over his bent knees, first pausing to wipe his forehead with his arms.  
  
He says, "I get by just fine. I don't mind."  
  
"I know you don't. That's why you should be the one instructing the new pilots."  
  
He sighs. She has to know there a reasons. No decision on Galactica is made lightly, not by his father and not by him. He grits his teeth. "She's doing a good job."  
  
She nods seriously, then she says, "Captain Adama, do you imagine that Francisco Abelard made a very good painting instructor?"  
  
He stifles a sighing groan. He hates times like this when she has her own agenda for the conversation and she keeps him on edge intentionally. Not to piss him off, just to maintain control.   
  
"Probably not."  
  
She makes a humming noise of assent. "Apparently, he was dreadful. A fine painter, but unable to communicate it to others." She pauses, looking down at him as if her looking will make him say something. "It's almost easy to forget that someone taught him."  
  
He doesn't know what she's trying to hint at, but he has a feeling he won't like it, especially since it seems to not so subtly put down Kara—or perhaps himself, although that seems less likely. He finally stands up and moves around the back of the viper, his eyes sweeping it familiarly, trying to keep his temper. Evenly, he says, "You'll say it's some hack. The teacher is always some guy who didn't know his ass from a hole in the ground, who the guys like Abelard with actual talent had to buck against to become the great artists they were."  
  
"Those who can do, and those who can't teach?"  
  
"No offense."  
  
She waves it off. "You weren't an art history major, were you?"   
  
"No, ma'am."  
  
"Neither was I, but I happen to know that Abelard was taught by a very skilled master. Of course, nobody ever remembers the master's name. I would imagine that's because he didn't care about his name being remembered."  
  
He can feel her eyes on him as he continues his visual check, and it makes him nervous, so he hauls the steps over to climb up to the cockpit and check out the interior. He longs to climb in and go on a long recon, somewhere far from the constant jockeying for position. He so often finds himself being shuttled between President and Commander, but all he really wants to do is fly and keep everyone else flying. That's the CAG's job. Maybe leadership is that simple, he thinks. Keep things going.   
  
Of course, it's also other things he never wanted, especially not now, in a time of war. He wonders if she wanted it. She was never meant to come this far.   
  
"How long were you a teacher?" he asks without looking down at her.  
  
"Not long enough," she replies. She pauses for a moment, and he knows she's looking up at him again, but she soon begins another circuit of the viper, this time in the other direction.   
  
"I'm not trying to get rid of you or anything," he says, "but was there something specific you came out here to ask me?"  
  
"No. I suppose I'm…playing hooky for a while?" When he looks down at her, she shrugs.  
  
"I can understand that," he says with a nod and a sudden smile.  
  
"And I admit I'm rather curious."  
  
"About…?"  
  
"What it is you do. I know less than nothing about these vipers. You could show me."  
  
"Show you?"  
  
"Talk me through what it is you're looking at. How you keep these things in the air, so to speak. It seems…miraculous to me."  
  
"I thought you knew better than to ask me to explain anything?"  
  
She laughs to herself, then she shrugs and gives him a twinkling, mischievous smile. So he retrieves a socket wrench from the toolbox and begins pointing at things, giving them names.  
  
  
  


II.

  
  
_Lee: How far down?  
  
Roslin: 43rd in line of succession. I know all 42 ahead of me from the President down. Most of us served with him in the first administration. Some of them came with him from the Mayor's office. I was there with him on his first campaign. I never really liked politics; I kept telling myself I was getting out, but... he had this way about him. (The pilot appears with a piece of paper.) Just couldn't say no to him. (He hands her the paper.) Thank you. (She sits up, puts her jacket back on.) We'll need a priest._   
  


*

  
Her school on New Caprica is a large tent, and he's still can't match up his vision of her as the President of the Colonies to this schoolteacher she's become, or, perhaps more correctly, reverted to. But he watches her through the tent flap before he parts it and she seems serene and full of energy at the same time—at home, even if she still carries herself like the woman he's known since that day on Colonial One, before it was Colonial One.  
  
"Commander," she says with a wide smile, nothing at all like the fake one he's sometimes seen her use in public in front of the people or in front of his father during a dispute. She nods him over to her side of the tent, and the children look up at him—maybe they know who he is, maybe they don't—but she refocuses their attention quickly, pointing them back to their papers.  
  
"Hello, Madam President."  
  
She just shakes her head. "You can only call me that if you can go back to being Captain Apollo instead of this…very important person you've become." She smiles indulgently, a hint of amusement mixed with admiration in her voice.   
  
But it's somehow odd to hear her say such a thing, as if this is the first time they've spoken since he became Commander of Pegasus. It's not; he's been in charge of his battlestar so long it's hard for him to remember not being in that position. Maybe it's that he's not met with her much in public since then. The Lee Adama he is with the people he's close to is different from the Commander. That rift somewhere inside him bothers him, but only vaguely, only as much as he allows it to. It's necessary, after all.  
  
She says, "What brings you down to the surface?"  
  
"I wish I could say I just wanted to visit, and I see now that I really should more often, but it's nothing that pleasant. Frankly, ma'am, I'm about to strangle President Baltar, and I figure you've held back from strangling him more than anybody else in the Colonies, so I ought to come to you for advice."  
  
She just raises her eyebrows, clearly amused, and pulls him close enough that she can whisper to him: "One piece right off the bat: don’t go around threatening the President of the Colonies. They tend to frown on that sort of thing." She sounds stern, but she smiles.  
  
He smiles, too, and lets her lead him out of the tent and into the open area behind it. It takes a moment before he realizes how intently she's examining him, in particular his face.   
  
"You're tired, Lee."  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
"Oh, dear Gods, stop ma'aming me."  
  
"I'm sorry," he says with a laugh. "I don't know you any other way."  
  
"I suppose not," she says with a shrug of resignation, then she gives a decisive nod of her head as the conversation shifts. "Now, President Baltar. I'm not even going to ask what he's done. It doesn't matter. You're not here because Gaius Baltar is an absolute ninny. He's always been a ninny, and he'll continue to be a very successful one as long as people are satisfied with their decision to be down here."  
  
"Are you?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Satisfied. With…this?"  
  
Her lips slowly but surely curve into a smile. "I think I am. What about you?"  
  
"I'm not down here."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
He straightens his uniform unconsciously, noticing it only when he realizes he's standing straight-backed, like he does when he's under his father's gaze, even now, with his own command. He thinks for a moment that part of him has regarded her as a mother figure for a very long time.   
  
"I'm in the military. Not being able to choose where you live comes with the territory."  
  
"But you're in the military because of the war."  
  
"I was already a Captain at the time of the attacks."  
  
"I have this sense you've been a captain since you were born, reluctantly and with a great deal of martyrdom."  
  
He raises his eyebrows.  
  
"Don't look at me like that," she says with a chuckle. "You have no idea what I mean—perhaps I don't either—but just know it's not an insult. I trust no one so well as you to be up there in the number two position. But I know it's hard for you. The kind of hard you sometimes relish, am I right?"  
  
"Madam President, I—"  
  
"Uh uh. Don't talk up at me. I'm just a schoolteacher." The way she spits out that word, combined with the flash in her eyes, makes him know she's thinking with amusement about the way his father used to pronounce that word like a curse. She says, "Now, here's what I see. You're not fine. You're not fine because life isn't fine. Especially life since the attacks. And now you're a Commander, maybe one of the youngest in the history of the Colonies. You're making decisions hour after hour, day after day, and it's exhausting. I know that. Believe me. But you're good at it. I hope I don't need to tell you that. I hope you just…feel it. Now, tell me, what has President Baltar done?"  
  
"Today? Proposed 'legislation' to keep our pilots from flying CAPs the way they should. Apparently, they come too close to the atmosphere for his liking."  
  
"And what do you propose to do?"  
  
"March into his office, tell him he's a moron, threaten to take Pegasus to the dark side of the planet, and refuse him all the military pomp and circumstance he always wants at his self-important ceremonies."  
  
"Knowing, of course, that the second restriction will have more impact than the first."  
  
"And that I won't actually do the first thing, anyway. Maybe my father would, but I wouldn't."  
  
"I don't think he would either. But that's not the point, is it?"  
  
He sighs. "I resent being drawn into something this petty. Threatening not to come down to the ground in my dress uniform to get my way?"   
  
"But it's not petty. That's the point. You have reasons, do you not, for wanting him to let the matter go?"  
  
"I don't know anymore whether they're actually good reasons, whether it's even worth fighting about."  
  
She considers that for a moment, looking at him again like she's expecting a sudden burst of wisdom to come from him. Finally, she nods and says, "I trust your instincts."  
  
"Good to know somebody does." He hopes he didn't sound too sarcastic.  
  
If he does, she doesn’t seem to mind. She just smiles as she glances up at the sky. "I, for one, hope you do change his mind. I feel safer knowing you and your men and women are up there. I don’t mind the occasional sonic boom. And I can tell you, most of them"—she gestured into the tent—"don't mind either. They cover their ears, but they practically vibrate with excitement."  
  
Abruptly, he realizes he's all but forgotten where he is. It's not that he never thinks about how the civilian fleet sees his job, but when he does, he's not likely to think about the children and the kind of strange, wide-eyed wonder he used to have when he was being walked through a base or woven through the corridors of a battlestar to find his father.  
  
"Have they ever been on Galactica?" he says. "Or Pegasus, obviously. I'm sure we could arrange a tour, at least of the less-used side of the hangar deck."  
  
"Forty five children swarming around one of your vipers? Are you sure, Commander?"  
  
"Positive. I wouldn't have known I wanted to fly if I hadn't seen one up close myself as a kid." His brain catches up with him, and he puts up a hand. "Not that I'm recruiting."  
  
"Understood. I suppose I always assumed you flew because of your father."  
  
"I did. But that doesn't mean I didn't fly for myself, too."  
  
She nods, then she says, "So, what are you doing for the rest of the afternoon? Obviously, you're too worked up to see the President for a while."  
  
He can see in her eyes and hear in her voice that her energy has begun to pitch back toward the tent and her work. He says, "I'm sorry for coming by unannounced like this. I don't mean to be disruptive. I know what you're doing here is important."  
  
"It's really fine. Maya's got them under control. You'd be surprised how well they can engage themselves if you give them something focused to do. Oddly enough, we happen to be studying government today, why we need it, how it works."  
  
"Why it's more important than ever?" She nods. "What do they think of the former President being their teacher?"  
  
"I don't think they think about it much at all. The older ones, maybe, for a time, but the younger ones don’t care who I am. I told them I used to be a teacher, and that's what registers for them. It registers for me, too, actually. I guess I'm no different from anyone else, trying to get back to what I used to be."  
  
"Well, for some of us, there is no going back."  
  
"And there are ways in which we perhaps wouldn't want to, am I right, Commander?"  
  
She's giving him another probing look, so he feels the need to say, "You know, you were right about what you said before. I  _am_  in the military because of what happened—because it reinforced to me that it's where I'm supposed to be."  
  
"Okay," she says with a decisive nod, as though she's trying to convince herself. "That's good. It's good to know you have a passion for what you're doing. You should know that those of us on the ground appreciate the effort and sacrifice you all put into watching over us. Just don't forget that we're making hard decisions down here, too. Every day."  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
"I only say that so you'll know you're not alone."  
  
"Understood."  
  
"Now, how would you like to stay around for a little while, see what the old school marme is up to? I'm sure the children would appreciate your contributions to our discussion. They love visitors."  
  
"You want me to talk to a bunch of kids about the government?"  
  
"Not if the mere idea brings out that tone in your voice. If you've more important—"  
  
"No," he says, letting loose a nervous chuckle. "That's not what I meant. It's just… I'm not good with kids."  
  
"Everyone's good with kids," she says with a wave of her hand. "They don't let you be otherwise."  
  
She takes him by the arm, then, and leads him back into the tent where they find that Maya has already herded the children into a loose and large circle on the ground, and they're apparently talking about elections. Lee follows Roslin in breaching the circle near the front and sitting down. Nobody stands up to greet the number two of the fleet.   
  
"This is Commander Adama," she says.  
  
"The one on the Pegasus?" one of the boys asks.  
  
"Yes, the one on the Pegasus," he replies, unable to stop a grin from coming over his face.   
  
For a moment, Roslin turns to him, once again like she's waiting. He takes the opportunity to jump right in.  
  
"Did you know that I was there when Ms. Roslin was sworn in as President of the Colonies?"  
  
"Really?" another boy says, skeptically.  
  
"Yes, really," he replies, pointedly not looking at her, although he can see her amused but half-perturbed expression out of the corner of his eye. "Let me tell you how brave she is."  
  
  
  


III.

  
  
_D'Anna Biers: The story of Galactica isn't that people make bad decisions under pressure, it's that those mistakes are the exception. Most of the time the men and women serving under Commander Adama get it right. The proof is that our fleet survives._   
  


~

  
_Lee: Did the defendant make mistakes? Sure, he did. Serious mistakes. But did he actually commit any crimes? Did he commit treason? No. I mean, it was an impossible situation. When the Cylons arrived, what could he possibly do? What could anyone have done? I mean, ask yourself, what would you have done? What would you have done?_   
  


*

  
He thinks he's doesn't quite understand what command of the Pegasus means until he watches it explode, on his authority.   
  
He doesn't know why he's made the decisions he's made—about turning to run, about choosing not to return, about returning after all—until he's stumbling, figuratively shell-shocked, out of a raptor to find the same old Galactica under his feet, only now it's swelling with people that belong to him and to his father, along with those who were on the ground. All together again. It could easily be overwhelming, so he moves out of the mass of people and through the crowded corridors to the place where, now, he's most used to dealing with this kind of hectic energy.  
  
When he steps into the CIC, he's not surprised, though he knows he should be, to find Roslin there. She greets him with an uncharacteristic hug while his father waits his turn, physically if not emotionally reticent, as always. He's unsure if he'll see pride or disappointment written in his features; he can't look at him. These two people are the  _why_ s of his decisions; they're somehow all that matters.  
  
"Commander," Roslin says, looking long into his eyes, but he shakes his head. He has the urge to jerk the sharp, shiny pin right off his collar. He only had it because no one else could wear it, and the ship needed a Commander. Now, there is no need. He doesn't let himself think about whether he was worthy.  
  
She gives him a bitter smile, her eyes watering. "I'm so sorry about—"  
  
"No," he says firmly, with a nod of his head. "It's done. It worked. We should be thankful."  
  
She nods, but then she asks the question he can now see in his father's eyes.  
  
"What made you decide to sacrifice your ship?"  
  
He wants to tell her he never forgot what she said in her classroom that day about hard decisions, but he simply shakes his head. "It was the best plan I had." He shakes his head again, this time smiling in amazement at her. "I don't know how you all mobilized so effectively. I- I don't know how you survived it at all."  
  
"We knew you were coming."  
  
Though she didn't intend them to, her words deflate something in him and he realizes he's been pressing everything back, all the long and numbing hours, all the adrenaline carrying him through without carrying him away, so that now, now that it's over…   
  
He excuses himself with a nod and strides out of the room, suddenly unable to breathe, a little like that moment he first took command of the Pegasus, actually, there under Garner. The urge to panic hits him just as unexpectedly, but he's not sure, this time, that he can master it.  
  
She catches up with him in the corridor and pulls him into the nearest hatch, which happens to be the head. At her stern glare, two privates scurry out as quickly as they can while Lee stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, chin raised. Only when they've shut the door does he lean over the counter, but he still holds his chest in tight.   
  
"Breathe," she says gently, because that's the thing to say.  
  
Her voice—the fact that she couldn't just leave him the frak alone—makes him suddenly angry. "Did he tell you?" he spits out. He sucks in a ragged breath. "Did he tell you I was the one that insisted on not jumping back, that I was going to leave you to—" He can't even finish the sentence.  
  
"I won't say I'm not glad you changed your mind."  
  
"Don't do that! Don't stand there and act like…" He makes a fist, but when he brings it down onto the counter, it's with a solid but quiet thud. "I'm not a man who runs like hell from a fight," he mutters. "When did I get to be this person?"  
  
"Lee."  
  
"It's not what you would've done," he snaps.  
  
"No, it's not what your father would have done. It's not what he did do." He just stares at her, so she adds, "You seem to forget that after the attacks, I ran. I convinced him to run."  
  
"There were a lot of times you didn't run."  
  
"And I never knew from day to day which would be the right decision. Just because we're all still here doesn't mean I didn't…frak things up colossally sometimes, choosing to act or not to act. You both jumped away, but you both came back. You struggled and you agonized and you came back. And here we are, safe."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"You found out that it's not always about numbers."  
  
Just because it isn't doesn't mean he hasn't already begun to calculate the losses, to the fleet as it stood and to the people they didn't get off the planet. Anger dissolves into something like despair, and he takes a breath too shallow to really fill his lungs and says, "I brought this ship back because I'm a coward. I didn't want to face going into the black alone and in charge."  
  
"I'm not sure I believe that's the reason; but if it's true, it only means you're human."  
  
He smiles bitterly. "As if humanity is enough anymore."  
  
Her smile echoes his, but there's still compassion in there somewhere, and it hurts like hell.  
  
She watches as he leans over the sink and splashes water on his face, a cold shock that doesn't do anything but ramp up his adrenaline. Water drips off his hands and chin; he feels ridiculous, useless.   
  
"You know what I keep thinking?" he says with a sour chuckle. "Of all the things I could be thinking, I'm telling myself it would've been better to sacrifice this old bucket instead of Pegasus."  
  
"I don't know. From what I've heard about the lessons learned on that ship, maybe it's…"  
  
"They weren't all bad lessons."  
  
"That, I can see. But there are other ways to learn those lessons, other places."  
  
"No," he says with a shake of his head. "I'm… I'm done."  
  
"Lee." She waits for him to turn to look at her, and when he does, he sees that she's wearing her determined face—not the cold one that she uses to shut people down or get what she needs, but the warm one. Pleading. But she's still so unbearably calm.   
  
She says, "I've been where you are right now, so believe me when I tell you that if you keep saying things like that, you'll regret them. You might believe every word. It might all be true. But they are things we don't say."  
  
He shakes his head. "I'm not like you. I can't just…"  
  
She strides forward and puts her fingers to his lips and holds it there. It's then that he notices her hand is shaking. "You are like me, in so many ways that matter. That's how I know you need to stop talking for a while, unless it's as you get back out there, find the remnants of your crew, and get them situated in their new places here on Galactica. Because they're still your crew. They need you. Your father does, too, I think."  
  
She looks him in the eyes, waiting, and he nods, so she takes away her finger. He says, "I don't even know what I'll do now."  
  
"If it's any consolation, I don't either. Celebrate, certainly. Beyond that, I have no idea."  
  
"President Baltar is...?"  
  
"Nowhere to be found, thank the lords of Kobol. Tom Zarek is Vice-President, so he'll assume the Presidency. I'm just a teacher."  
  
For some reason, as she says this his whirling thoughts calm for a moment. He can clearly see that ring of children—in her classroom, later around a viper.  
  
"How are your kids?"  
  
She shrugs. "Alive." Then she sighs, and he can see the weight of the hours wearing on her, too. "All but one."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Me, too," she replies, shutting her lips tight against anything else she might want to say.  
  
  
  


IV.

  
  
_Tigh: You know, sometimes I think that you've got ice water in those veins, and other times I think you're just a naive little schoolteacher. I've sent men on suicide missions in two wars now, and let me tell you something. It don't make a Godsdamn bit of difference whether they're riding in a Viper or walking out onto a parade ground, in the end they're just as dead. So take your piety and your moralizing and your high-minded principles and stick 'em someplace safe until you're off this rock and you're sitting in your nice cushy chair on Colonial one again. I've got a war to fight._   
  


~

  
_Adama: You're a CAG, you're not a lawyer. Far from it.  
  
Lee: What, and you're a judge?   
  
Adama: No, but like the four other men picked, I'm capable of listening to the evidence and making an ethical decision.   
  
Lee: And I'm capable of helping Lampkin.   
  
Adama: Forget it. I need you as CAG.   
  
Lee: Why did you give me those books, huh? I mean, you gave me your father's law books.   
  
Adama: I made a mistake.   
  
Lee: Why? Why is it a mistake? Are you afraid that I'll be like him?_   
  


*

  
He's on Colonial One on business from his father, negotiating some fleet matters but mostly delivering paperwork that is undoubtedly about Gaius Baltar, who is still cooling his heels in the Galactica brig. There had been talk of a trial, but as much as his father and the President have been stewing about it, he hasn't seen anything come to pass. Yet.   
  
But he doesn't ask her about that. He doesn't have to ask her anything, actually—she invites him to sit down and have a drink, and he can tell instantly that she's in the mood to talk. He imagines she would've preferred having his father there to bounce her thoughts off of, but he tries not to be offended by that. He's actually rather glad the Admiral and the President have come to this kind of trust and closeness. And he takes a small amount of pride that he's an acceptable substitute.  
  
"So," she says, after some small talk. "You know what transpired with Chief Tyrol and the refinery ship?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
"Does it surprise you?"  
  
"That he takes this issue seriously? No."  
  
"I meant, does it surprise you that he'd do something so…reckless as engage in a strike."  
  
"Frankly, yes. He's been in the service long enough to know better."  
  
"I took that as a sign things were critical."  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
"I've met with him. Since then. I've talked to him."  
  
"Despite this incident, you couldn't ask for a better leader of men."  
  
"This I know. I remember." She says it placidly, but it doesn't matter. He still feels it like an accusation. New Caprica. Even if it never quite leaves his thoughts, it still finds ways to smack him in the face when he least expects that divide to come up again. He wasn't there; he doesn't know.  
  
"I'm sorry," he says.  
  
She shakes her head. "That wasn't a dig. It's just that you didn't see him on New Caprica."  
  
He pauses, but he says it anyway: "But we're not on New Caprica anymore."  
  
"No, indeed."  
  
"And what worked during a Cylon occupation…"  
  
"Perhaps that's what bothers me the most. My own reaction."  
  
"You're not a schoolteacher anymore."  
  
"No."  
  
She takes a drink of tea, sipping slowly, as if to savor it.  
  
"I think we're all a little on edge lately," he says, cutting into the silence.  
  
"Eating algae will do that."  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
"Although it's more than the algae." She's been staring out the window beside her, but she finally turns back to look at him, even if her voice is still far away and tired. "It's part of the cycle, I think. We run and run until we believe that we must stop. If we don't stop, we'll…cease to be human, somehow. But once we stop, we risk. So we waver between putting down roots and putting up shields. We haven't learned how to do both at once yet."  
  
"It's more than that, though, isn't it? We want things to be like they were before, and we don't even stop to consider that the things we cling to might be problems."  
  
"You sound like the Chief."  
  
He smiles. "I might've been by to talk to him when he was in hack."  
  
"I see."  
  
"I sympathize with him. Really, I do." She nods. "It's hard to look around at this fleet and know that change does not happen on its own because it's so tempting to want to fall back into to those old molds, things that are comfortable if only because they're familiar."  
  
"So you propose that we break them and start over. New molds?"  
  
"Yes. Ones that fit our circumstances. It might get a little messy, but we have to try."  
  
"I would think you'd be the first to advocate stability rather than chaos. Isn't that what the law does for us, even if it's the old law?"  
  
"It does and I am. Stability is what we strive for, obviously, but it's not what we're going to get, not at first. We have to decide what means more—building a solid foundation or pacifying people."  
  
"You think I'm pacifying people?" She looks rather more puzzled than angry.  
  
"That's not what I meant. I remember the election, how people were seduced by Baltar's dream of building a new Caprica. You were the one preaching caution."  
  
"I'm a realist. I'm still in survival mode. But what you seem to be advocating seems like an idealism if not akin to Baltar's, at least just as impossible to bring to bear."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"No maybe. Tell me what's going through your head."  
  
She's looking at him like she's daring him to say something, perhaps she even knows what, but at the same time he feels distinctly afraid of taking that leap.   
  
"Lee?"  
  
"You banned abortions."  
  
Her jaw clenches.  
  
He adds, "I know how hard that must've—"  
  
"You have no conception of how hard that was. Do you think I enjoy denying people their rights? Do you think it's fun being the watchdog of humanity, more concerned with the numbers than…" She forces the cup of tea to her lips and turns to look out the window again.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
She sighs out a long breath, not exactly meeting his eyes with forgiveness, but at least some of the sting has come out of her tone. "Major, I recall your father's speech at the decommissioning vividly. Sometimes, it wakes me up in the middle of the night. I want to make humanity something worth the struggle we've put into surviving. But I simply do not know how we determine when we become a society again—a real one, not a band of refugees. Or if."  
  
"If?"  
  
"We tried on New Caprica, and we failed."  
  
"But the Cylons—"  
  
"Were not our only problem, as your Chief would point out. And now… Now, we're just floating along out here, clinging together as best we can. We don't have the luxury of acting in accordance with philosophy, especially one based on people being free when we're far from it. We do things we don't want to do for survival, like tell women they no longer have control over their own bodies, not when that freedom conflicts with the fundamental thing that rules us now."  
  
"You think it always will? You think we're in a perpetual state of war, never free, always on the defensive?"  
  
"Aren't we?"  
  
"That's why you issued the pardon."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Forgiveness for all. Band together or we'll never survive."  
  
"You don't agree with the pardon?"  
  
"I'm not sure if I do or don't. But if it's just a gesture…"  
  
She snorts. "It's always just a gesture. That's all politics is. Tell people what they want to hear."  
  
"You don't believe that."  
  
"No?"  
  
"Not the woman who lost an election for being honest."  
  
"I don't plan to lose again, Major."  
  
"Even you're not that cynical."  
  
"No, I'm not. Laura Roslin is not. But the President of the Colonies is precisely that cynical. I can't trust people to know what's best, not in a situation like this."  
  
He wants to ask her how she can be trusted to know what's best herself, but he doesn't, mainly because he does trust her. He's not that cynical either; there are such things as good, trustworthy leaders, and she's one.   
  
Instead, he asks her, "When, then?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"It has to start somewhere."  
  
"It will when it's time. It's maybe already started, judging from Tyrol's ill-advised stunt on the refinery ship. I'm not insensible to the changes we can make this time around."  
  
"There's a lot of cleaning up to be done first."  
  
Her head falls into a series of nods. "A lot of letting things go. People aren't smart enough to do that on their own, either."  
  
"The pardon."  
  
"The pardon. I'll promise you like I promised Tyrol: I’m not interested in dragging us along, star system after star system, if we resemble little more than space detritus. At a certain point, a boat smashed up at sea ceases to be a boat anymore and becomes a congregation of old, broken wood, not worth salvaging. The idea is to get people out of the water before that point."  
  
"But you don't just keep sailing around in the life rafts forever."  
  
"You do if there's nothing but water and sharks."  
  
"Well, all I can say is I'm glad I lucked into climbing into the life raft with the captain."  
  
"Oh, no," she says with a sudden laugh. "Each boat has its own captain. Captains made." He smiles, and then she gestures at him with her cup.  
  
"I'm guessing I'm not Captain Pragmatism."  
  
"This is true," she says, her smile widening. Then it turns self-deprecating. "If you were, you wouldn't have followed Captain Prophecy to the tomb of Athena."  
  
"That was about survival."  
  
"Conviction, too. I remember how little your father cared for my conviction, at first. Perhaps still does. I didn't enjoy opposing him, despite what you might think."  
  
"But you did it anyway."  
  
"I did it anyway. In case you hadn't noticed, I can be rather willful." She winks at him.  
  
"Because it's necessary."  
  
"Yes." She takes another sip. "The Admiral was rather rough on the Chief, was he not?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I thank the gods I'm not the Commander of a battlestar."  
  
"It's not like he doesn't understand exactly why Tyrol did it."  
  
"I know. It's that he can't think about it."  
  
"But you can?"  
  
She nods. "Me and my sleeplessness and my pregnant young women and my lantern sweeping over the dark waters."  
  
"I think we're all in the boats by now, Madam President," he says, smiling.  
  
But his words make her suddenly quiet. She studies his face for a long time, long enough to make him almost nervous. Then her face warms back into a smile, and she says with a nod:  
  
"Then we tend to the boats. If only someone could tell me how."  
  
They never really cut off the discussion; they simply fall into silence. Lee takes in the different noises of this vessel compared to Galactica, the smoothness of sound verses the noise of the old battlestar, and Roslin stares out the window, cradling the cup in both hands. After a few minutes, he excuses himself to get back to Galactica, and she gives him a look that jumbles camaraderie with uneasiness, resignation marking it with something dark. But when she shakes his hand, she's smiling.  
  
  
  


V.

  
  
_Kara: I, um, only knew Admiral Cain for a short time, so what I have to say about her will be short. She faced things. She looked them right in the eye and she didn't flinch. That's something that we do a lot around here. We second-guess. We worry. When I think about what she went through after the attack-- all alone, one ship, no help, no hope--she didn't give up. She didn't worry. She didn't second-guess. She acted. She did what she thought needed to be done, and the Pegasus survived._   
  


~

  
_Roslin: Let's start this by admitting an ugly truth. What happened out there today was the result of failure in leadership of everyone in this room. We are the leaders of this fleet. As such, we need to set an example. We cannot continue to let the conflicts between--  
  
Cain: Oh, let's just cut through the handholding, shall we. Two of his men murdered one of my officers while protecting a Cylon. They're guilty; they admitted it. And under regulations, I have complete authority to try, convict, and sentence them. And you and I both know that the penalty for that crime is death. Admiral, surely...   
  
Roslin: The spirit of the law requires something here more than summary executions._   
  


~

  
_Lee: I'm the coward. I'm the traitor. I'm forgiven. I'd say we're very forgiving of mistakes. We make our own laws now, our own justice. We've been pretty creative at finding ways to let people off the hook for everything from theft to murder. And we've had to be. Because... Because we're not a civilization anymore. We are a gang. And we're on the run. And we have to fight to survive. We have to break rules. We have to bend laws. We have to improvise. But not this time, no. Not this time. Not for Gaius Baltar. No. You, you have to die… You should've been killed back on New Caprica, but since you had the temerity to live, we're gonna execute you now._   
  


~

  
_(Lee points his gun at Tigh)  
  
Lee: Men, lay down your weapons.   
  
Tigh: Have you lost your frakkin' mind?   
  
Lee: Colonel, tell these marines to fall back.   
  
Tigh: This is mutiny, you know that.   
  
Lee: Yes, I do. But you can tell my father that I'm listening to my instincts and my instincts tell me that we cannot sacrifice our democracy just because the President makes a bad decision._   
  


~

  
_Roslin: Please don't do this. Please.  
  
Lee: Madam President, are you taking chamalla at this time?   
  
Roslin: "Captain Apollo." You remember that? I always thought it had such a nice ring to it. I am so, so sorry for you now._   
  


*

  
She forgives him.   
  
Eventually. For the personal attack first, though he later thinks about how that should've been the hardest part. It would've been for him. But she comes by forgiving him for being wrong easily, much more easily than she might have liked.   
  
It takes a lot longer for her to forgive him for being right, but she does. When she's wrong, she tells you. Luckily, so does he. After all, he had an excellent teacher.  
  
  
  


VI.

  
  
_Adama: We have struggled since the attacks... trying to rely on one another. Our strength and our only hope as a people is to remain undivided. We haven't always done all we could to insure that. Many people believe that the scriptures, the letters from the gods, will lead us to salvation. Maybe they will. But "the gods shall lift those who lift each other." And so, to lift all of us, let me present once again the President of the Colonies, Laura Roslin._   
  


~

  
_Roslin: You have committed me to holding elections within the year.  
  
Lee: Madam President, with respect, you are serving out the remainder of President Adar's term. When that term is up, in seven months, the law says there is an election. I only committed you to obeying the law.   
  
Adama: You sound like some kind of lawyer.   
  
Roslin: This is unacceptable.   
  
Lee: I swore an oath. To defend the articles. The articles say there is an election in seven months. Now, if you are telling me we are throwing out the law, then I am not a captain, you are not a Commander, and you are not the President. And I don't owe either of you a damned explanation for anything.   
  
Roslin: He's your son.   
  
Adama: He's your advisor._   
  


*

  
As they walk through the central tent city on Earth, she tells him it's a good thing her cancer will flare up every few years. There's always the possibility that the cure will cease to do its work, and that keeps her on her toes. Secretly, he believes she will never die. He would joke about her perhaps being a Cylon, but it's all still too raw.  
  
The last battle lingers in their minds, but they've been here long enough they've had to find a way of getting past it well enough to put down roots, go about the business of rebuilding their lives, form a new community. There is no need for the many separate encampments that have sprung up, but it makes them feel more like this is something real. They named the base camp Pegasus City. It functions as the capitol. Flanking it are Saul and Agathon, the latter for Sharon.   
  
They chose names from their journey and exodus and struggle, not the twelve planets they left. Nothing will ever be named for Caprica. Nothing will ever be  _New_ , even though everything is. Yet these familiar names seem so very morbid to him. He has to remind himself that it's for posterity: these names will never die as long as people live on this planet. But that's still so uncertain, and the thought of those dead being simply names is equally as disheartening.   
  
"I hear," he says, breaking himself out of his thoughts, "that a group is petitioning to have their village of Cain officially recognized."  
  
She rolls her eyes. "Of course, they never met the woman. She's merely a grand feminist legend to them."  
  
"Feminist?"  
  
"Anarchist. Fascist. Libertarian. You name the group, people have claimed her as their saint and martyr."  
  
"That's depressing."  
  
"Quite."  
  
"But kind of flattering. At least they remember her." She nods, then he suppresses a grin. "So will there be any Roslins if you die?"  
  
"If?" she says with a funny little questioning smile. "No. Promise me you won't let them name any buildings or mountain ranges or bodies of water after me when I'm gone."  
  
"I'll do my best."  
  
"I will haunt you if I have to."  
  
"Believe me, I know how you feel. They've already named that big lake up in the hills Adama."  
  
"For your father."  
  
"It doesn't matter."  
  
"No, I don't suppose it does. Speaking of the Admiral, did you tell him what I asked you?"  
  
He smiles. "Yeah. And his response was about the same as mine."  
  
"But I do need a running mate."  
  
"As if anyone stands a chance against you. Why haven't you asked Zarek?"  
  
"I have. I think he has plans to return to being the Sagittaron prophet. His soul cries out for rebellion," she says melodramatically, rolling her eyes. "He needs it to survive, much like your Captain Thrace. Which is fine—we need voices of opposition from time to time. If he's a big fish, and I've rather grudgingly come to accept that he is, he prefers not to be in a pond of any sort."  
  
"I can sympathize with that."  
  
"But, really, Lee, it's the only place to swim."  
  
"Madam President, can we chuck the metaphor and be honest here?"  
  
"Always."  
  
"I don't want to be Vice President. I don’t want to be in politics at all."  
  
"I don't care. You can't keep that brain of yours shut up in a viper."  
  
"It hasn't been, and I don't want to."  
  
"Good. Then you won't have a problem accepting the position of Secretary of Defense."  
  
Everything comes to an abrupt halt in his brain. He finds his eyes casting about, taking in the tents and the people, as if he's trying to get his bearings. She can't possibly be saying what she's saying.   
  
"What?" he says.  
  
"Provided the Quorum approves you, and they will. It's a role you've played many times before. Why not make it official?"  
  
"Aren't I a little too…?"  
  
"Handsome?" she says with a slow, sly grin. "Perhaps."  
  
"I meant young."  
  
"If it makes you feel any better, I've asked Galen Tyrol to be Secretary of Labor."  
  
"And he said yes?"  
  
"Without hesitation."  
  
"Well, I'm afraid I'm going to need a little…hesitation."  
  
She sighs. "Lee, we're a civilization of 35,000 people. Our government right now resembles not so much a multi-planetary colonial system as a large rural city. If I know nothing else, I know you're capable of being on a city council."  
  
"It's not that I'm not flattered by the proposal, but—"  
  
She holds up her hand. "This is not some empty gesture as part of our long and winding road toward regaining our friendship, or whatever it is we've been doing as we carry on this strange little dance of ours, so put that out of your mind right now. I don't care about appearances and propriety, not with you and not with the fleet, if that's what you're thinking. Personally speaking, that old way we had of relating—we can't get it back just as it was. I'm not even sure we should. This is who we are now, at this point in time, and I trust you. Perhaps I always have.  
  
"Anyway, I need you to do this for me. I can't have your father do it because he's got enough on his plate as Admiral. Besides, the job is one designed to work between him and me. And I'll need it." A smile steals over her face. "He gets restless when things are too easy. He'll pick fights with me. Now, I'm capable of being diplomatic with him, but I love him too much to put up with his bullshit, pardon my language, and as I don't have the desire to defend myself against a military coup again—"  
  
"Okay. I'll do it. Because I can't say 'no' to you, not because I for one moment believe you two aren't nearly always on the same page anymore, or at least you can get there pretty frakkin' fast."  
  
She laughs, but then her expression turns serious again. "Have you ever considered how that could be a problem? Perhaps we need some…objective advice from time to time. From someone willing to swim in the pond. Or the river," she says, gesturing toward the branch of the Olympic River a few hundred yards away.  
  
They walk along in silence between the rows of military tents and chattering swirl of people until they reach the dock that's been straight ahead of them ever since they turned off onto this secondary pathway. A few crude craft are tied up there, and other boats slip down the wide, shallow river, a tributary of the large one that borders the city on the north. Across the banks, he can see Agathon, its clapboard houses and more piecemeal tents. Small piers line the river bank, with people fishing off them.   
  
As they stand there and take in the scene, watching the sun finally sink below the horizon, she takes a deep breath and says, "I need to ask one more favor of you."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"I still need a Secretary of Education. I was hoping you would fill that role as well."  
  
He's stunned into silence, but she doesn't rush into it immediately. She doesn't even move, but he can feel her looking at him.  
  
Finally, he says, "I'm not a teacher."  
  
She opens her mouth to say something, then she simply waves her hand at him.  
  
He says, "Madam President—"  
  
"Colonel Adama," she says, mocking his serious tone.  
  
"Laura. I don't know what makes you think I'm qualified to do this."  
  
"If you don't know by now, I can't make you understand it. You'll just have to trust me. I'm not asking you to draw up a curriculum or teach fractions to ten year olds. I'm asking you to look at the big picture, make sure these teachers don't lose track of larger interests, of what's really at stake. It's sometimes hard to do that when you're so focused on the practical, on your one group of children. Or when you don't know how to think beyond the old system."   
  
She waits to catch his gaze and hold it, then she goes on: "But the big picture isn't as very big as your very wide-eyed expression merits. 35,000 people. If it makes it easier, imagine yourself as the superintendent of schools in a farming community on Aerelon. You can do this. You can manage a group of teachers. You've handled worse."  
  
"How many do we have?"  
  
"Enough. But none of them are leaders. That's why I need you."  
  
He can't suppress a nervous chuckle.   
  
"What?" she asks.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Lee?"  
  
"It's just that… Well, I always got the impression that you being a teacher is a big part of what makes you a good President, like the two go hand in hand somehow."  
  
She got a curious smile on her face. "Really?"  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
"I've never, ever thought of it that way."  
  
"I don't believe you."  
  
"I’m serious."  
  
"You're crazy. And I don't think I'm wrong."  
  
"I could give you a laundry list of my non-teacher-like personality traits, especially as a leader, but let's start with how horribly inflexible I am."  
  
"Being decisive isn't the same as being inflexible. You've done so many things you never wanted to do, changed your mind about things, because people needed to know how to survive and how to live. You know how to get people to do what they need to do, what you need them to do. Even better, you have a way of almost making it seem like it's their own idea."  
  
"Almost?"  
  
"Some of us see through you. Of course, we do what you want anyway."  
  
She smiles. "Yet you won't be my running mate?"  
  
"I'm military. I might be not be up on the ship anymore, but I'm still military. In fact, you ought to check the articles to see if the head of ground forces is allowed to be Secretary of anything."  
  
"So you'll do it? Because I've most definitely checked, and it's legal."  
  
He takes a deep breath, sighing through a sheepish smile. Eventually, he nods. She motions with her head for them to begin walking back through the town.  
  
They walk in silence for a while, but as they turn the corner and head back down the long central road toward Colonial One, he says, "So, how far down am I?"  
  
"Down?"  
  
"Surely not 43."  
  
Her reply takes a moment. "Not nearly. You can imagine that a lot of the trappings of the old Colonial system aren't reasonable or even possible now."  
  
"So, roughly…?"  
  
"16 or 17. Behind the Quorum and a couple of others. Although, really, I can't imagine that in the event of something going seriously wrong your father wouldn't just declare martial law."  
  
"Would that be so bad?"  
  
"Not if you're Secretary of Defense."  
  
"Can I be in both positions at once?"  
  
"Perhaps it's perfect that you should be." It sounds like a heavy answer, but he doesn't take the time to think through it, not just now.  
  
Instead, he laughs and says, "I can't imagine what the Admiral will say."  
  
"I suppose I should tell you—he laughed at you because he already knew what I was going to ask you, about being my running mate and even about these issues I've brought up today."  
  
"You told him?"  
  
"I asked his advice. I usually do."  
  
"And he said you were crazy?"  
  
"He said pretty much what you said, only with fewer words. That's always been your problem, you know."  
  
"Words?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I don't consider them a problem anymore, ma'am."  
  
She pauses, but not for too long. He wonders if she's thinking about the trial, how when history books are being written, his role in things will likely receive a prominent, perhaps mythical place. It never seemed mythical to him. He was just saying what he believed, not because it was easy but because he had no other choice.   
  
But he's thinking about something else, about when they first met and he was forced to do something risky to save them all. Something had passed between them that day, some trust that went beyond her merely saying she would never ask him again how he did what he did, only thank him for saving their asses. She always did ask. It was good that she did. The hard part was when he started asking questions in return.  
  
She replies seriously, "I don't suppose so, Colonel Apollo." But her face is already shifting into playfulness again: "Now, what have I told you about ma'aming me?"  
  
"Madam President, if I did everything you asked without question, I wouldn't be of much use to you."  
  
She just smiles, words forming at her lips that she can't seem to find a way to say. Silently, they walk on through Pegasus City, and Lee's eyes are already taking in this place in a new way, ready to reflect it back to the President.


End file.
